


You Shook Me All Night Long

by DovahDoes



Series: A Little Amenadan AU [5]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: (it's for getting through that aforementioned Talk), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Chloe and Lucifer are still pre-relationship, Chloe is many things (including a gift ofc), Coffee, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode: s02e05 The Weaponizer, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Amenadiel, Sickfic, Trixie is a gift, Wings, and others you could argue..., but she and Dan have to Talk in this fic, but we're getting there lol, kind of a, obv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 04:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15404793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovahDoes/pseuds/DovahDoes
Summary: Chloe (and by proxy, Trixie) are the next to find out that Amenadiel and Dan are An Item.  The timing isn't ideal (nor are the circumstances up to his choosing), but at least there's fresh coffee, right?Before any of that happens, though, while confronting Uriel, Amenadiel pulls off an impressive new trick with his powers that hemaybeshould have given his significant other a heads-up about, first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so in this AU, 'Quid Pro Ho' (S2E10) and some of its requisite 'Charlotte's body starts falling apart' events happen _far_ earlier in S2. In fact, generally speaking, I moved that stuff to occurring right around the time that S2E5 ('The Weaponizer') and the Uriel fiasco does. Weaponizer ends up at about where 'Quid Pro Ho' happened-- so they swap places. 
> 
> Dan and Amenadiel get together between these two rearranged arcs. Hence Dan having still slept with Charlotte, but the shit with Uriel not having happened yet.
> 
> (Yeah, there're other little timing issues, but I feel like the one above needed explaining.)

 

 

There are times that Amenadiel has wanted to kill his brother (in a quite literal sense for a while, last year).  And his having come so close to killing Lucifer at one point really pinpoints how disconcertingly far gone he’d been in adhering to his ‘the ends justify the means’ creed.  In any case, there is a _very_ strong possibility that he may end up at a fifty-percent success rate in his track record of fratricides, if this particular altercation escalates any further.

 

“Uriel!”  he bellows, sternly.  "This is— _hey!_   This is entirely _unreasonable_!  _I don’t want to fight you_!”

 

His younger brother, who seems especially pugnacious, today, growls before drawing a very familiar blade.  Amenadiel blanches, and although he’s prone to perspiring, a cold sweat immediately breaks out at the small of his back.

 

“Ah, _now_ you know I’m serious,” Uriel says, standing in place and wielding the celestial weapon in a way that implies he’s had some training since last they’d sparred.  “Now, _give me Mother_ , or I will systematically take apart everything and _everyone_ in my way until I get to her, myself.  Our other, equally stubborn sibling has already seen that I mean business, no matter how many mortals might be in my way.”

 

“Brother, you know I won’t help you with that.  If you would just listen to reason and hear me and Lucifer out, you’d know that she only wants to speak to Dad.  To try and fix things—”

 

 Uriel snorts and his expression shifts from bored patience and into something a little darker.

 

“ _Fix things?_ ”  he says, scoffing _._   “In what world? They _both_ lost their minds when Lucifer rebelled, and Dad’s had his head in the sand that is Humanity for _millenia_ , at this point _._ ”

 

The elder of the two siblings doesn’t necessarily disagree with what he’s hearing, but he _does_ worry that, much like he has experienced first-hand in the recent past, Uriel’s personal hang-ups are clouding his judgement of how to carry out his divine assignment.  He takes a cautious step, only for the other male to stalk forward, blade held aloft and pointed with warning at his person.

 

Getting annoyed at the protracted standoff, himself, Amenadiel feels his temper start to rise at yet _another_ of his stubborn siblings’ actions.

 

“ _Uriel_.  If you would just come with me and talk to Lucifer and I without all these threats and the completely needless violence, you might start to see reason again!”

 

As though he’s uttered some sort of key phrase, his younger sibling actually _does_ lower the blade, sighing despondently himself.

 

“Well,” he muses, turning briefly to one side to pick up his discarded cloak before dropping Azrael’s dagger into one of its pockets.  “I can see this was an entirely pointless fight to pick.”

 

Relief rushes through Amenadiel, who finally falls out of his combat stance.  His brother turns to him and shoots him a lopsided smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“We’re done here.  I _did_ hear that Mother found herself a human consort, though; maybe I’ll go see what _Detective Espinoza_ knows about Mom’s hiding place.  Goodbye, Amenadiel.”

 

Something like icy fire climbs up his spine and an enraged indignation seems to fill him at just the _idea_ that Uriel’s sights might be set on Daniel, next.  He reaches forward to instinctively, _futilely_ try and use his powers to freeze or slow his brother, even though he's fully aware that virtually none of them can use their powers directly on their siblings.

 

In the next moment, however, things go a bit odd for Amenadiel.  His vision tunnels out and it suddenly feels as if the air is muggy with buzzing power that makes the hair on his arms stand on end.  He had brought his wings out at some point, too, and they flare around him as a current of superheated energy runs through him and then seems to flow back out through all of his pores with such intensity that he blacks out for several moments.

 

When he comes back to himself, it is to the now-familiar sound of LA traffic noisily moving about many stories down below.

 

“Mmm,” he groans, piteously, still feeling disoriented and a rather a bit drained, powers-wise.  Pushing himself up onto his elbows from where he’s been lying flat on his back, starfished out on the rooftop, Amenadiel concludes that he’s been out of it for far more than a few seconds, as the sun appears to have made quite a bit of progress across the sky and toward the western horizon.

 

Before he worries about the hour, though, there’s something far more pressing to deal with that has him scrambling to his feet in renewed alarm.

 

“Uriel?” he asks, cautiously, approaching the motionless form of his sibling that stands in place, seemingly suspended in a single moment.

 

When Amenadiel touches his shoulder, though, it is warm to the touch.  With a soul-deep exhale, the older angel drops his head for a moment before stepping back to observe the new living ‘statue’.

 

Uriel looks out, blankly, continuously frozen in time, somehow.  Seeing as his time-space manipulating powers aren’t supposed to work on celestials and other powerful beings, this is _quite_ a headache-inducing enigma, as things go.

 

“Damnit…” he curses, realizing he’s rather out of his depth.  Before another moment passes, he resigns himself to the inevitable first stop on his journey for help and answers.

 

While the angel would _love_ to just head home and wile away the evening until his lover leaves work and is able to text more freely, he has to figure out what to do about Uriel’s current state.  Reluctantly, Amenadiel fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens up the group text between himself, Lucifer, Mazikeen, and his mother, shooting off an update as quickly as possible.

 

_A:  I have Uriel.  And directly related to that, a rather troublesome problem.  Emergency family meeting at Lucifer’s please?_

 

Before he turns off the screen to pocket his phone, he feels it buzzing with multiple responses.  Freeing his wings, again, he prepares to grab his brother and head to Lux.

 

He’ll just call up Dan later tonight, once everything’s been sorted out with this strange ordeal.  In his haste to leave, however, he takes no notice of the fact that Uriel’s overcoat is nowhere to be found on the rooftop.

 

*   *   *

 

** _A Little Bit Earlier_ **

 

Dan had skipped lunch, today (save for a bit of coffee), in order to really dig into a few hunches he’s had about the current case, and it seems to really be paying off.  He manages to link the victim, Wesley Cabot, to one of their main suspects, Kimo Van Zandt, in an unexpected way: through a shared, scheming agent.

 

A quick text message and a few minutes later and Chloe and Lucifer join him in the lab, the former standing nearby while the latter seats himself in front of the central, raised worktable that is covered in _Body Bags_ movie franchise memorabilia.

 

“So,” Chloe asks, straight to the point, “did Kimo’s alibi check out?”

 

Lucifer appears to be thoroughly enthralled by the myriad action figures on display, and takes to examining and playing with them with all the apparent interest of a young child.  Looking away from the spectacle and back at his fellow detective, Dan figures they at least won’t have to worry about the usual interruptions, one-liners, and non-sequiturs like they usually would from the eccentric club-owner, so long as he’s preoccupied.

 

“Wh-?  Yeah,” he says, forcibly ridding himself of all Lucifer-induced distraction from the case.  “According to the owner of the comic book store, Kimo was there all morning signing merchandise.”

 

“So you had to confiscate all these toys just to tell me that?” she deadpans, skeptically, looking out over the memorabilia-cluttered countertop.

 

Dan feels a bit put on the spot, and grasps at straws, trying to figure out the best way to justify the way he might have gone a _bit_ overboard with collecting some of the ‘evidence’.

 

“Uh, yeah.  Yeah, it’s a visual aid.”

 

_Yikes._

 

Predictably, his ex only looks more dubious as she replies with an unimpressed “Right.”

 

Finally finding his words, he gestures out over the crowded table, taking on a more serious tone as he starts stringing together his theory based on what he’s discovered.

 

“Look, these dolls, they’re selling like hotcakes.  The owner said that ever since _Body Bags_ started streaming on Netflix, he can’t keep them in stock.”

 

Sky blue eyes bore into the piles of assorted knick-knacks, still trying to catch onto whatever thread of reasoning Dan has started dangling.

 

“And that relates to the murder how?”

 

Dan opens his mouth to answer, then lifts his index finger in a wordless plea for ‘one second’ before stepping up to a box at the table’s edge and lifting a thick sheaf of papers out of its depths.

 

“Well, at the scene, Wesley was going over all of his old _Body Bags 4_ stuff,” he explains, lighting up triumphantly as he separates several specific pages from the rest and tilts them so that the woman at his side can better view them.

 

Arms crossed, Chloe makes an encouraging ‘mmhm’ sound, prompting Dan to continue his spiel.

 

“Including his old contract.”

 

Running his index finger along a specific paragraph on the second page, he continues.

 

“Says he’s entitled to one percent of all merchandising revenue.  It’s not much.  So I had the studio send over a copy of _their_ contract.”

 

This garners an even more interested ‘mmhm’ from the main member of his captive audience as he flips to the next page and points at a corresponding line halfway down the document.  (Lucifer, he sees out the corner of his eye, has moved on to leafing through a limited-edition _Body Bags_ graphic novel.)  Chloe moves infinitesimally closer, leaning in and furrowing her brows as she reads through several lines while Dan keeps talking.

 

“Look at that.  Says Wesley should be getting _ten_ percent.”

 

After a perplexed glance up at Dan, she skims the rest of the page’s contents, momentarily absorbed in the material.

 

“Uh huh.  I also took a look at _Kimo Van Zandt’s_ contract,” he says, meeting the curious topaz gaze with his own grey-green eyes.  “Same thing happened to him.

 

“Kimo and Wesley shared everything.  Wives, agents…. _business_ managers.”

 

Chloe’s voice joins his in citing their likely murderer, reaching the same conclusion he has in his investigation.

 

“Ryan Goldburg.”

 

From there, an impassioned Chloe steps in, having heard all the facts and additional evidence and feeling completely caught up to all the pertinent, new information for the case.

 

“Wesley figured out Ryan’s scam, confronted him, and then Ryan killed him to keep him quiet.”

 

Dan nods along with her statement, eventually speaking while looking across the room and at the final puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.

 

“Yeah, but how did he get Kimo’s prints on the murder weapon so that he could frame him?”

 

When he refocuses on the other detective, her gaze is determined as she moves toward the door.

 

“I’m gonna ask him,” she says with a finality that does not bode well for Ryan Goldburg.

 

Lucifer stands up and efficiently fixes his lapels and shirt’s collar while neatening himself up much to his impatient partner’s thinly veiled exasperation.

 

“All right.  You coming?” she asks him, almost rhetorically.

 

The lanky fallen angel finishes righting himself and looks over at Chloe before walking around the table to stand a distance away from her while remaining equidistant from the exit.  Based on everything Dan knows about on body language and posture, this is inexplicably about to turn into some kind of confrontation.

 

“No, no.  You’ve got this covered,” he deflects **,** breezily, seeming to take Chloe aback and launching them into the argument Dan had seen coming.

 

“ _What?_   You’ve been attached to me all day, and now that we may have figured out who killed Wesley, you’re just leaving?”

 

“Yes.” Lucifer says calmly, as if talking to a child.  “Well, by now, the threat to you should’ve passed.”

 

 _Threat?_ Dan thinks, wondering just _what_ is going on in his ex-wife’s life, _especially_ when it comes to the devil’s less-than-legitimate extracurricular activities.

 

“But just in case, I’ve some family business to attend to.  All right?” Lucifer says loudly, with a challenging tone.

 

Well...  If it’s important family-related stuff, Dan’s sure Amenadiel will let him know, so he takes a moment to tamp down on any misplaced overprotective instincts rearing their head where his ex is concerned.  In the meanwhile, the odd little scene at the doorway concludes as Lucifer walks away and leaves Chloe behind.

 

The woman initially looks at least a bit hurt, in spite of her oft-repeated distaste for Lucifer, but almost instantly covers up the emotion with mild irritation and a put upon casual air.  She looks out the open door her partner had just walked through and speaks to herself more than anyone else.

 

“Fine.  I’ll go alone,” she says with a touch of sullenness.

 

 _Wow_ , Dan thinks to himself, having mostly succeeded in not outright gawking at the contentious back and forth.  Forget Chloe deliberately missing the endless, blatant signs of the supernatural: her forcibly ignoring her own crush the size of a continent is _far_ more impressive and inexplicable.

 

…and still a little weird to think about, as her ex-husband, he concludes in the next heartbeat.

 

With a mental shake, he turns back to the wealth of catalogued items from the crime scene and focuses on trying to look at them with from a fresh perspective.  Then, from the other side of the lab, Ella snorts good-humoredly to herself as she peers through a microscope.

 

“ _Wow_.  It’s like, get a room already, right?”

 

Yep, he internally reaffirms.  _Definitely_ a little weird.  His brain sort of blanks on exactly _what_ the right response to the forensic specialist’s question is.

 

“Uh…”

 

Ella quickly notices his lack of response and seems to go over just _what_ she’d just said, and to _whom_ , turning around and looking at him sheepishly with apology written all over her features.

 

“Too soon, even with you and you-know-who going steady?” she ventures.  “Sorry.

 

“So, um… how-how’s the… the case going?”

 

With a quirked brow and a slightly bemused smile, Dan tells her, summarizing what’s been put together, so far, as far as their main suspect being the ‘money manager’, and their being stuck on the ‘how’ portion of his framing Kimo for the murder.

 

The petite young woman relaxes her grip on her clipboard and softly, almost thoughtfully, shakes her head at the apparent unjustness of it all.

 

“Man, killed by your own weird award.  That’s gotta suck.”

 

The LAPD’s newest forensic scientist sure is one of a kind, he thinks to himself as he responds bemusedly.

 

“I’m sure it does.”

 

Walking over to the box full of documents that the two actors’ studio had sent over, he reaches in and lifts another solid sheaf of papers out and rests them on the counter so he can more easily peruse their contents.  Figuring there might be something else yet undiscovered, therein, he settles in place and pores over the documents in the quiet environment of the forensic lab, with only the distant tinny sound of whatever Ella is listening to through her earbuds as distraction.

 

Less than ten minutes later, he steps back and rubs his dry eyes, deciding to take a short break before diving back in.  His mind wanders to the victim, Wesley Cabot, and Kimo Van Zandt, again, and nostalgia suffuses his thoughts as he recalls watching the very award show that the nunchuk-themed memento had come from in the first place.

 

Chuckling, briefly, he reminisces aloud, more to himself than anyone else.

 

“It was actually… it was really, really touching when they got it.”

 

The LAPD detective pauses and takes a moment to review what he’d just said, coming out of his reverie as a sudden epiphany rushes through him.

 

“When _they_ got it.  _There were two awards_ ,” he says emphatically.

 

His instinct is to go running off after Chloe, but it’s been far too long, now, and she must have already left the station.  Instead, he calls her with the pivotal update to the case and hangs up after they briskly say their goodbyes.  Turning back to the evidence-covered table at the room’s center, he deftly places several spread out stacks of paper back inside the box they’d come from, talking to Ella as he quickly neatens up some of the collectibles Lucifer had misplaced while left to his own devices, earlier.

 

“Alright, El, I’m gonna catch up to Chloe and provide a bit of backup, in case Lucifer doesn’t wander back to her, like he usually does.” 

 

The detective checks that he has everything he needs on him and walks around the long table at the lab’s center, heading toward the exit.

 

“Call me if— if annnyy…”  whatever he’d been saying fizzles out of his mind and his whole body goes cold for a moment before he’s hit with a strong wave of intense dizziness that has him clipping the doorframe  _hard_  with his shoulder, and then instinctively gripping at the sill of one of the large windows to keep himself upright.

 

“Whoah!” Ella exclaims, dropping a clipboard onto a countertop and coming forward to rest a hand on his arm.  “What was _that_?  I looked over and you shoulder checked the doorway like it was a guy on the rival football team.”

 

Dan’s really not quite sure _what_ happened, but he _does_ know that even though he’s no longer as dizzy, he _is_ very, _very_ tired all of a sudden.  It’s like he’s run two marathons back-to-back without sleep or sustenance, while coming down with a cold or something; _drained_ would be an apt, if understated way of describing his current state.  Ella’s worried face blurs in front of him for a second, but he blinks away the fuzziness while trying to refocus his thoughts instead of letting them scatter to the wind, as they seem wont to do, right now.

 

“Sorry— got kinda lost in thought, there,” he tries, smiling charmingly (he hopes), and trying not to lean back against the offending doorframe for some much-needed stability.

 

The younger woman steps back and narrows her eyes at him, noting the hand he’s put out behind himself to hold onto the frame with.

 

“Uh huh.  Tell it to the other one, sister.  I know you skipped out on breaktime, today, and I’m reasonably sure you _also_ pulled two doubles in the last week, so I’m just going to _offer_ you the suggestion to go home early.”

Frowning, Dan un-slumps as best as he can and tries to muster up the energy to use his ‘detective voice’, but Ella steamrolls him.

 

“Ah ah!” she waggles a finger.  “None of that ‘I’m fine, I’m a manly man named Dan and I don’t need sleep _or_ food!’ stuff, today, mister.”

 

The awful impression has him grimacing while she continues her diatribe.

 

“I’m not saying I’ll tell the lieutenant that you have a very contagious strain of the stomach flu and get you sent home, but I _will_ say I’ve heard I have a _very_ convincing ‘oh no— my coworker is sick!’ face.”

 

Dan sighs and allows himself to slump.

 

“Ugh.  _Fine_ ,” he acquiesces, surprised at how rough his voice sounds when he’s not trying to keep up appearances.  Maybe he _should_ go home, early.  He can probably catch a nap before heading over to Chloe’s to pick up Trixie for a few days.

 

Ella positively beams for a second before quickly enfolding him in a tight, warm embrace that does at least raise his spirits a bit about getting sent home like a trouble kid at school.  When she steps back, she catches his eye and cocks a rueful grin.

 

“Feel better, okay?  And get some rest: not sleeping can really catch up to you suddenly, sometimes.”

 

 _Apparently_.

 

“Yeah.  Thanks Ella,” he says, starting to feel a bone-deep weariness begin to tug at him and weigh down his limbs. “Seeya in a few.”

 

“Sure!  And don’t even worry about Chloe, man— homegirl’s got a good head on her shoulders and enough badass to take down about anyone she wants.  Just focus on getting home safe, okay?”

 

Swaying slightly to one side as he exits the lab, Dan shuffles his way to his desk for his car keys, and then makes his way out of the precinct, yawning the whole way.

 

He sits down in his car and vaguely remembers that he’d left a tall thermos of black coffee somewhere in the vehicle, early this morning.  Fumbling around with paraphernalia from his most recently worked cases, he eventually finds the thermos lying underneath what must be a prop knife from one of his improv classes.  With hardly a thought, he focuses on downing at least a few mouthfuls of unappetizingly cold coffee and willing himself into wakefulness as best as he can.

 

In the end, he doesn’t remember much of the car ride, but he eventually realizes he’s actually parked in front of Chloe’s new place and not his own.  His brain must have skipped a few key steps in the whole napping at his place and _then_ picking up Trixie plan he’d had, and just cut straight to the end.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” he mutters to himself, blearily, rubbing at his face with both hands for several long seconds before sighing deeply and accepting that this mistaken pitstop is likely a sign that he is _way_ too out of it to be driving around anymore.

 

Whatever veneer of wakefulness the coffee had provided is rapidly fading away (that, or he’s getting _more_ tired, somehow), and he resigns himself to grabbing the quick nap he’s been looking forward to on his ex’s couch instead of in his own bed.

 

Gathering up a few items on the passenger seat next to him by simply pushing them over the seat’s edge and onto a spare jacket he keeps in the car, the LAPD detective bundles up said coat and exits the vehicle.  Rebalancing the rolled-up bunch of material, he takes a few seconds to muzzily search for and find the spare key Chloe’d given him for emergencies.

 

After letting himself in, he realizes he should probably let Chloe— and likely Maze— know that he’ll be crashing in their living room for a few hours and is maybe hoping to pick Trixie up from school as a surprise.  Except that the moment he sits down and drops his little jacket onto the nearby coffee table, his body sees fit to remind him that he is _far_ more worn out than he thinks.

 

At the most, he manages to unbundle the scrunched up leather jacket enough to fish his phone out of the thing.  However, he loses a good minute or so of time, wherein, he vaguely remembers nearly smashing face-first into the aforementioned coffee table due to a heavy wave of sleepiness.  He must have instinctively recoiled in the opposite direction, though, as the next thing he’s aware of is sitting half-slumped over on the sofa with his phone clenched in one hand and its still-connected charge cable dangling uselessly onto the floor.

 

He blinks and suddenly, his head is on the couch cushion that had just been under one of his arms when he’d last checked.  With one last yawn, Dan’s eyes close, and he scooches his back closer to the soft padding of the couch’s back, falling into a much-needed rest with his phone hugged to his chest.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Over the next hour, the conked out young man misses a number of phone calls: several from Maze, and one from his ex-wife.  Undisturbed by his phone’s blaring ringtone and its vibrations, he remains firmly planted in the land of nod until someone actually enters the house in search of him.

 

More specifically, a scowling Maze opens the front door to her and Chloe’s house, while dialing her _other_ wayward detective friend’s phone and stops in her tracks before following the clarion jingle coming from the family room.

 

“Jesus, Espinoza,” she says on an exhalation as relieved as it is irritated.  “When Ella said to check in on you if I have time, I didn’t think you’d be competing with a lost celestial knife for ‘hardest to find bounty of the week’.  Shit.”

 

Peering closely at the officer’s wan face, she figures he overall looks okay enough, what with the continued breathing and everything.  The haphazardly parked car in the driveway had been a bit concerning, but it seems it was all for naught— the guy just looks like he needs a few more nights of decent sleep.

 

With that determined, the demon decides to potentially spice up the slumbering detective’s life, and eases his phone out of limp hands.  A minute and a quick text to his angelic loverboy about ‘late night sleepovers’ and she places the mobile device out of sight in the ball of leather with a wide grin, abruptly furrowing her brow at the last second.

 

“Hey, you seen a super over-the-top gaudy-looking dagger around here?” she asks rhetorically, knowing the human won’t be answering any time soon.  “Your boyfriend, his brother, and their mom are freaking out wondering where it could…”

 

Having nudged the charging cable now dangling from the leather jacket draped over the coffee table, one corner of the coat had flopped open, revealing an A/C adapter base for said phone charger, two unused coffee creamer packs, and the handle of what _definitely_ looks like Azrael’s blade.

 

Maze’s eyes light up as she carefully grabs the weapon, turning it this way and that before deftly flipping and catching it in a showy display performed for no one but herself.

 

“Nice,” she says, grinning down at the powerful dagger.  “Thanks, Dan!”

 

Turning around, she struts toward the front door before slowing to a stop halfway across the room and wrinkling her nose.  Pivoting on the spot, she makes a beeline to a hallway closet and pulls something out of its cramped depths before heading back over to the half-curled up figure on the couch.

 

With perhaps a bit more care than some might anticipate, Maze drapes a well-worn throw over the sleeping man on the sofa before striding straight out of the house without a backward glance.

 

Nuzzling his face deeper into the plush pillow beneath his head, Dan continues to rest, utterly unaware of the brief visitor or anything that has just transpired.

 

*

 

Later that evening, when he properly wakes up, he immediately becomes aware of the familiar scent of canned chicken noodle soup and the associated sounds of a spoon clanking against the inside of a pot as its contents are intermittently stirred.  For a few seconds, he gets his bearings by blinking his eyes slowly open and inhaling a somewhat invigorating lungful of air, taking in the comforting sight of his daughter sitting nearby, all the while.  A content smile comes to his face as he watches her play quietly with a heaping glob of some kind of glittery, ocean blue silly putty-slash-slime on the coffee table.

 

For a time, this moment would be a snapshot of a typical evening at home after work.  Well… before he fucked everything up and decided to marry his job for a while, anyway, alongside several other damning, ill-considered life choices.

 

After spending a few seconds on nostalgic, bittersweet thoughts, Dan begins to laboriously lever himself back upright on trembling arms, feeling his blood pound in his ears for a few moments at the minor change in altitude.

 

The odd sensation soon resolves itself, but if he has to describe how he’s feeling at the moment, he’d definitely agree that the phrase ‘wiped out’ sounds about right.  By the time he sets himself to rights with limbs that feel almost kitten-feeble (and _wow_ , how would he feel if he _hadn’t_ taken a nap?), the pajama-clad 8-year old playing nearby has hopped onto the couch and burrowed into his side with a smile, moving aside an old throw she must have brought over, earlier.

 

“Well, hey there,” he says warmly, helpless but to return the infectious grin, if a bit weakly.  “Careful, Honey: we don’t know if I’m sick.  Wouldn’t want you to catch anything.”

 

True to character, his daughter glances up at him and gives him a look that plainly states that he’s being inconceivably silly, seeming to narrowly avoid rolling her eyes.  Maybe she’s taking pity on her half dead-looking father, tonight.

 

“Yeah, but you and Mommy don’t care when _I’m_ sick and still give me lots of cuddles, right?”

 

It never fails to amaze him how quickly this tiny, often-devious (but thoroughly sweet) gem of a kid manages to melt his heart and pull down his defenses.  Pulling her into his side and into a quick, grateful embrace, he shares a brief look over his shoulder with Chloe that conveys his bewildered thankfulness that their child is such a stellar person, chock full of caring and cleverness already.  When he looks back down into guileless, dark eyes, his lips quirk in a soft expression.

 

“You know what?  You’re right, Trix.  Thanks for helping Daddy feel better.”

 

Kissing the crown of her head as she moves to settle into his lap, he absently takes in the sound of a burner on the stove clicking of and a kitchen cabinet door loudly closing just afterward.  In the meantime, Trixie takes a moment to lean over and grab a tablet from a stand next to the sofa and has logged into it by the time she’s back in place.

 

His attention moves away from small hands browsing through multiple streaming apps with incredible efficiency when Chloe hands him a big mug of soup over the back of the couch and then feels his forehead with a half-frown.

 

“Huh.  Not warm,” she concludes.  “But you look dead on your feet.   _Were_ you sick?”

 

Looking back over the somewhat hazy memories of leaving Ella’s office and then the station, his forehead wrinkles slightly.  While he takes a moment to try and sift through his slow-moving thoughts, his ex moves to sit on the coffee table directly in front of them.

 

“No.  I think sometime after I left work and headed here might’ve been when I _really_ started to feel like sh— crap, though.  By the time I got inside, I could hardly stay standing before I decided to crash on the couch and wait for you guys to get home.”

 

“I can’t believe Maze just left you here like this.”

 

“What?” he says while giving an absent-minded thumbs-up to his daughter as she picks some animated Disney-Pixar movie or another from her kids Netflix account.  “She was here?  Damn.  I must’ve _really_ been out of it…”

 

“Wow.” Chloe says, looking decidedly concerned.  “Yeah, that does it: you’re staying here, tonight.  Feel free to head upstairs and grab a shower after you eat.”

 

With a concerning, shit-eating-grin, she stands up from her place on the coffee table and rounds the sofa, again, likely heading to the kitchen to start cleaning up.

 

“Speaking of my new roommate, she let me know that some of my loungewear fits you surprisingly well.  I don’t have any of your stuff here, anymore, so just take whatever you can find from my pj drawer.”

 

Like he often does, Dan makes it a point to completely ignore the gentle ribbing and instead does his best to immerse himself in what looks like a seafaring adventure movie that seems to take place somewhere in the Pacific.  He most certainly doesn’t wince at the memory of being forced to borrow the (admittedly comfortable) pink women’s jogging suit last year.  Chloe’s voice is a welcome distraction from the flashback.

 

“I’ll fold out the sofa bed while you’re upstairs, okay?” she says, rhetorically.

 

As he sips his no-longer steaming soup, he relaxes into the cushions at his back and properly tunes in enough to the animated feature to provide occasional commentary or respond to his daughter’s own comments.

 

Before long, the porcelain mug in his hand is empty and his stomach full.  Blinking slowly, he chafes his hand up and down over Trixie’s arm, conciliatorily, as he turns off the tablet.

 

“Alright, kid.  It’s time for all good little girls to get some sleep, alright?  If you wanna get in all the fun stuff, tomorrow, you need enough rest, so c’mon— up!”

 

With a frown that’s likely only tempered by her worry for her father, Trixie sighs and shuffles off his lap and onto her own two feet on the floor, twisting around to lean forward and meet her dad for a warm hug before she scampers off to her bedroom.

 

“Night, Daddy!” she calls.  “Feel better!”

 

Yawning, he tilts his head back against the couch for a moment before levering himself forward and up with a grunt, swaying for a precarious moment when he suffers through quite the headrush.

 

“ _Whoah_ ,” he breathes out, blinking spots from his eyes, and feeling very thankful for the small but solid presence suddenly bracing him up on one side.

 

“Yeah,” his ex says, wryly.  “I know I don’t _really_ have any say in what you do, anymore, but I’d definitely advise as a friend that you consider calling out of work, tomorrow.”

 

At just the thought, Dan wrinkles his nose.  Tomorrow’s Friday, and he’s already scheduled off the very next day, after all.  Chloe catches his unconvinced expression, of course.

 

“Aaaand that’s about how I thought you’d react.  Well… you should still head upstairs and hit the showers— I know that usually makes me feel a bit more alive when I’m under the weather.  Think you’ll be alright getting up there on your own, now?”

 

Deliberately leaving the possibility of calling out sick tomorrow unaddressed, Dan instead answers her last question as he manages to navigate the room completely under his own power.

 

“Think so— probably just got up to fast after staying down for too long, just now.”  He chuckles a bit and then heads for the stairs.  “I’ll be down in a few.  Thanks again, Chlo.”

 

With an easy smile laced with the smallest bit of bittersweetness that Dan can feel, himself, she shakes her head.

 

“It’s what good friends do for each other, right?”

 

“Right,” he says, lingering for a moment before shaking his head and carefully making his way up the short flight of stairs.  Somewhere behind him, he hears Chloe close Trixie’s door as she helps her get ready for bed.  (She’s _also_ probably checking that the crafty young girl hasn’t stashed any chocolates anywhere in her room.)

 

It’s been an incredibly long, weird day, and a few minutes under hot water with decent water pressure sounds like just the thing before settling in for a good, deep sleep, he figures.

 

*   *   *

 

** _Several Hours Later_ **

 

 

It’s sometime just past the middle of the night when Dan is poked awake by very tiny fingers.

 

“Mmnf,” he grunts, prying one eye open and elbowing absently at the heavy wing that drapes over most of his torso and hips.

 

“What’s up, Trix,” he rasps, taking in the way she sleepily hugs a little stuffed animal to her chest with one arm.

 

The obstructing wing moves back out of sight, leaving him a bit colder for its absence, as his daughter moves closer to the sofa bed’s edge.

 

“I had a scary dream, Daddy.  ‘Bout mean wizards and big dogs and the sky was weird and I couldn’t find you or Mommy or even Lucifer or Maze,” she says in one, long breath.  “Can I stay with you?  Don’t wanna go through the dark up to Mommy’s room.”

 

Not even trying to wrap his head around the majority of her dream’s contents, Dan simply shuffles back into the body behind him to make a bit of room, and lifts up the edge of the oversized throw.

 

His daughter climbs in and snuggles close, and within a few minutes both have returned to peaceful slumber and pleasant dreams.

 

*

 

With a speed born of daily practice, Dan silences his phone alarm without opening his eyes, scarcely a second after it starts to blare.

 

As he sits up, he notices that Trixie must have gotten up or gone back to her room at some point, and he scratches blearily at the barest start of stubble on his cheek, squinting at the still half-dark room around him without much purpose.

 

“So,” comes a voice from behind him and slightly to his side.  “I see you invited a ‘guest’ over, last night, huh?”

 

Suddenly much more awake, he whips his head around to see his ex-wife’s unimpressed stare, sleepy as it may be, aimed at him.

 

But wait…

 

“Wha— invited a guest…?” he starts, turning back around to look at the lump taking up the other half of the pullout sofa bed.  “Oh shit.”

 

Spotting a lone pinfeather tucked down low between two pillows, he takes a moment to thank God that his boyfriend had at least put his wings away, at some point, or else this would be an _entirely_ different kind of conversation he has to have.

 

The bed-mussed LAPD detective carefully climbs out of bed and sheepishly makes his way over to the kitchen counter, where Chloe still sits, primly sipping her coffee with a gimlet stare directed straight at him.

 

“So,” he says, wincing. “I’m, uh, gonna grab a cup of coffee so we can at least pretend I’m somewhat ready to have this conversation.”

 

He then does so with an alacrity that does not come naturally to him considering how worn down he still feels.

 

“Alright.  So, first of all, I have _no_ memory of inviting anyone over, last night.  I barely remember getting _into_ bed in the first place.  Sorry if he scared you or anything— I’ll definitely talk to him about just, uh, popping up places like that.”

 

Chloe sighs and places her mug down on the counter, wryly smiling ever-so-slightly, in spite of herself.

 

“Yeah.  That seems to be… a ‘thing’ with that family.  Lucifer _still_ does it, more often than not.  I can kind of identify with the struggle.”

 

Tentatively, Dan returns her smile, feeling like maybe he hasn’t _completely_ fucked up their tenuous, somewhat stable recent relationship.

 

“ _Seriously_ , what is _with_ that, right?”

 

He chuckles a few times in good humor before sobering up a bit.

 

“Anyway, uh, yeah.  We, uh, we’ve been trying to kind of keep things discreet, you know?  Me and Amenadiel.  Two other people just found out by accident, and that was nerve-wracking enough, since one of them’s at the precinct.

 

“It’s just— yeah, it may be two-thousand-whatever, and it’s LA, but it’s _also_ still law enforcement where smaller things than this can still cause big issues if they get out, y’know?”

 

The younger woman sitting adjacent to him looks sympathetic and grasps his hand.

 

“Hey— I get it, okay?  You don’t have to explain yourself to me.  Part of this whole sepa—divorce thing is letting the other person find their way, romantically, again, right?”

 

Dan chuckles a bit at the shared bit of awkwardness that lessens each time they talk more frankly about their diverging personal lives.

 

“I, uh. Yeah.  Thanks, Chlo.  It really means a lot.”

 

“Of course.  And in the interest of keeping dialogue open and honest, I _am_ a bit hurt that you didn’t think you could come to me about this, but it’s understandable: things are still a bit weird between us, sometimes.  _Trixie_ is who you _really_ have to worry about winning over, anyway, obviously.”

 

“I know,” he accedes, squeezing her hand before looking back up to meet her eyes, earnestly.  “I _was_ going to tell you— you _and_ Trixie— first, but time got away from me, and I got back into old habits of letting myself fall into work.  It’s actually been Maze who’s been prodding me to make time to talk to you guys about everything.”

 

Brows furrowed, he pulls his hand away from their embrace and takes a moment to pat down both pockets of his hot pink pajama bottoms in search of his phone.

 

“Actually— have you seen my….” he mutters, before stilling his hands, moving one to cradle his entire face, while resting his elbow on the countertop.

 

“Maze,” he sighs, resignedly.  “Pretty sure _Maze_ invited Amenadiel over, last night.   _Ugh._ ”

 

Chloe rolls her eyes skyward and nods once, succinctly, resting one forearm along the counter as she leans back, slightly.

 

“Mmyep.  That sounds _exactly_ right.  You’re off the hook, this time.  Just know that very I nearly emptied a clip into the guy when I saw a whole, other _person_ was behind you and Trix in the dark.  _Jesus_ ,” she laughs briefly, in exasperation.

 

“Well,” Dan says, smirking.  “Pretty glad you _didn’t_ shoot my unconscious boyfriend.”

 

For _several_ reasons.

 

“So am I,” comes a gravelly voice from the direction of the couch.

 

Chloe perks up with a familiar sort of predatory excitement in her eyes— the kind that Dan knows usually precedes an interrogation that she _knows_ she’ll come out on top of.  The subdued, vicious edge to her friendly expression has reeled many a hapless suspect in questioning in for the kill.

 

“Oh! Amenadiel, you’re up.  Care to a have a cup of coffee with us?  Maybe catch me up on how you and Dan got together before we get to the inevitable shovel talk?”

 

The groggy angel shoots an inquisitive, mildly alarmed look at his lover who only shrugs apologetically.

 

“Sure,” the exhausted man says in response, swinging flannel-clad legs over the bed’s edge before unhurriedly standing up .  “I could _definitely_ use a cup of coffee after the day I had, yesterday.”

 

“Dan?” Chloe prompts, using her eyes to indicate another seat at the counter, signaling for him to vacate his seat— the one closest to her— for Amenadiel’s sake.

 

 _Uh oh_.

 

He considers sending a quick prayer up for his older lover, but figures there’s really no escaping a determined Chloe Decker, and settles for scooching his stool up right next to the other man’s.

 

As the relative surrealness of the moment threatens to overwhelm him for a moment, he refocuses by linking hands with Amenadiel as he sits down, choosing to instead provide moral support.

 

“Hey, mister,” she says, garnering his full attention.  “Don’t think you’re off the hook completely, here, just because he’s about to get grilled: _you’re_  properly telling Trixie about you two, later, when she gets up.”

 

God help whoever has to have the ‘The Talk’ about the supernatural/celestial world with his ex-wife, he muses to himself.

 

*

 

Somewhere in the bowels of the Richards & Wheeler law offices, the goddess of creation sneezes twice in quick succession for no discernible reason before writing the incident off and unconcernedly going back to her work.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I'll address what they do about/with frozen!Uriel in a later fic.)
> 
> While writing, I reworked some of the dialogue between Dan and Chloe multiple times, and this is a happy medium between overtalking everything, and not addressing some things that they probably should/would at all.  
> *
> 
> Come check out [my writing blog](https://dovahdoeswrite.tumblr.com/), where I post early fic snippets and keep you updated on what i'm working on in what fandoms!
> 
>    
> Kudos and comments are love: feel free to leave me some, kind readers~. (ღˇ◡ˇ)~♥


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